Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“Then you should date her.”
“Julian,” a brunette lady in her early forties calls. “Where have you been hiding, darling?” She waves and smiles before she comes over and kisses him on both cheeks. She holds his biceps and inspects him from head to toe. “I swear, Julian, you get yummier every time I see you.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” He laughs, and it’s that deep, velvety laugh of his that tells me he genuinely likes this lady. “Nadia, please meet Brielle, my new nanny,” he introduces.
She looks me up and down, too. “Hello.” But her offered smile is fake.
“Hello,” I reply timidly.
Jesus, this place is like Tinder on crack.
They begin to make conversation, but I feel like a third wheel.
“I’ll leave you two to it.” I smile. “Nice to meet you, Nadia.”
“Likewise, Brielle. See you next time.”
I make my way over to the coffee van and stand in line to order. I watch Mr. Masters escape one woman only to be accosted by another, again and again.
He’s like a rock star around here.
I make it back to my seat and continue watching the game, until eventually he returns and falls back into his chair beside me.
“You sure are definitely popular around here,” I whisper.
He seems embarrassed. “Unwanted attention, I can assure you.” He looks around. “Where’s Rebecca? I have her coffee.”
“Oh, she’s over there organizing another date for the charity auction.”
He rolls his eyes. “No doubt.”
My phone rings, the name Emerson lighting up my screen.
“Hey, babe.” I smile.
“Hi!” she squeals, and I hold the phone away from my ear and giggle. Mr. Masters frowns.
“We still on for tonight?” I ask.
Mr. Masters keeps his eyes on the game and pretends not to listen, but I know he can hear everything.
“Yep. Wear something sexy. The Canadian boys are coming.”
“Really?” I glance at my boss as I speak to Emerson. “Have you spoken to them?” I reply as I lower my voice. We met two Canadian backpackers on the flight on the way over. We did mention going out with them tonight, but this is the first I’ve heard of it since.
"Yes. Oh my God, and the gorgeous one is really into you." I bite my lip to stifle my smile, and I push the phone so close to my head, it feels like it nearly becomes embedded in my skull. I know how childish we sound, and for some reason, I don't want Mr. Masters hearing this.
“We’ll see,” I reply, trying to act casual.
“See you at eight at my house. Wear your sexiest dress.”
I feel my nerves flutter. “Okay, see you then.” I hang up and sip my coffee awkwardly. Mr. Masters stares at the soccer game, and for some reason I feel like I should offer an explanation.
“I’m a little nervous about going out tonight.”
His unimpressed eyes turn to me. “Why?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Strange country, new people.”
He raises an eyebrow and seems amused. I turn and continue to watch the game. It’s weird. I go from feeling comfortable around him one minute, to feeling like a stupid child in the next.
“You did come here to find yourself, Brielle. I assume you will start that particular project tonight,” he says flatly.
Are you for real?
He’s openly sarcastic about the fact that I’m going out with the backpackers tonight. Is he unaware that, for the last two hours, I have watched every woman around this godforsaken field try to bang him as if he’s The King of England?
I sip my coffee, remaining silent.
Screw this.
I am going to have sex tonight. I’m going to have wild, uninhibited sex with a young Canadian—one who doesn’t make me feel like I’m an errant teenager.
One who doesn’t have a brain or a cute curl through his hair.
Somebody whose name isn’t Mr. Fucking Masters.
Chapter Four
I hold the tissue flat, press the soft white parchment to my lips then roll them together as I look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is full and curled just on the ends. My makeup is smoky sexy, and my lips are now a glossy gold.
I turn to look at my behind, and I feel my nerves flutter in my stomach.
I'm wearing a fitted, strapless cream dress, with high heeled gold stilettos complimenting it, plus a small gold clutch giving me something to cling on to. I look good. I know I look good. Sexy and fun was my aim, and I think I nailed the brief.
Tonight’s the night.
For twelve months, Emerson and I have planned our trip to London, convincing ourselves that we were going to be new people. People who have fun and live by the seat of their pants. Not that we didn't do that back home, but we were definitely in a rut. I didn't want to go out in fear that I would run into my ex and one of his bimbos. Emerson didn't want to go out in case we saw her ex with someone else. Our social lives were completely dependant on other people, and I hate that we let that happen.